


Waterspout

by Greenninjagal



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Boarding School, Hanging out (a window), M/M, Mentions of Deceit - Freeform, Mild Cursing, One Shot, Spider-Verse, Spidersense, Spiderverse au lets go, Storms, Virgil is spiderman, based on the nursery rhyme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:05:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenninjagal/pseuds/Greenninjagal
Summary: "Hail!” The boy says all smug smiles that Virgil immediately hates. “You’re Recluse aren’t you?”As if there was some other spider themed weirdo who clung to buildings in their free time.“No,” Virgil says, because he can.***Virgil finds himself stuck on the side of a building in a rainstorm and is helped by an annoying-admittedly attractive-guy.





	Waterspout

**Author's Note:**

> So this is totally a Spiderverse au I couldn't wait to write a bit for. I took some ideas from @sugarglider9603 on tumblr but I put my own spin on it (ha like a spider spins a web, sorry I've been writing for five hours straight and haven't eaten in even longer). Let me know what you think, because I have a better plot ready for when I get around to writing more than a one shot.

Virgil doesn’t even notice the breeze had picked up until he’s suddenly yanked in the wrong direction as useless as a puppet on a string. He has a total of one second to think the usual “ _Oh shi--”_ before his body slams into the sleek surface of an office building some twenty-thirty-forty stories into the air. The air in his chest splutters out, and his shoulder does this weird  _pop-pop_ thing that he’s sure its not supposed to do. His hands open on reflex and his web escapes his fingers in his panic-- a panic that nearly swallows him whole because he  _knew_ how high he was, and it had taken weeks to get the dropping of his stomach every time he left the solid ground. He scratches at the glass of the window before he manages to get his fingers to stick and stay stuck along with his left knee and his right foot. 

Then when he can, he worries about inhaling. Then he worries about everything else. 

Like the fact that he was a dizzying height in the air, which by the way, was tormented by a series of unexpected cold fronts. He doesn’t remember the forecast saying anything about rain, but the clouds are gathering and the thunder isn’t that much farther behind. The chill of the atmosphere crawls into Virgil’s suit, along with the flecks of teeny tiny suggestions of rain. 

He lets out a curse (on the wind, on the height, on himself).

Okay, let’s start from the beginning: Virgil was an artistic introverted emo. A year ago he was bitten by a radioactive spider-- because honestly that’s just his luck-- and received epic superpowers that he really,  _really_ didn’t ask for. Since then, he’s been the one and only Recluse: a spider themed superhero/vigilante who does his best to save the normal people from the baddier people.

The rain starts several seconds later because the universe also hates him. The rain starts, and Virgil guesses he has about five minutes before the window he’s clinging to-- his only available perch-- becomes a slip-n-slide to his death. 

For someone who has a spider sense that tells him when giant rocks, knives, or bullets are coming for him, Virgil feels like he was truly blindsided. By something as finicky as the freaking weather. 

He hisses in pain as he tries to move his arm, the arm that had caught his entire body when he splattered on the window like some cartoon. Oh yeah, it hurt a lot, enough that his entire breath has to hiss out between his teeth and his bottom lip, and he’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be making that  _Pop-pop-popping_  sound when he tries to roll it. Spikes of pain shoot straight from his limb to the back of his eyes. 

The rain picks up slowly: fatter, heavier drops, colder chills, sharper winds that slice around his body trying its best to unstick him from his purchase.  

The truth of the situation hits him seconds later: there’s exactly no way he’s going to be able to swing out of here, not with his shoulder crying uncle at the thought of moving and the wind cutting the air in odd unpredictable sections. He’d have better luck trying to plaster his entire body against this window or another of the others and hope the water doesn’t wash him away. 

(because until the popular nursery rhyme, Virgil was pretty sure if he got washed away Officer Dee would be finding his broken body on the roof of some poor saps car. There would be no sitting up from that, much less climbing back up here.)

Suddenly Virgil’s mask feels too tight, his limbs not strong enough, and his heart is beating far too fast. He  _knew_ becoming a superhero was a bad idea. Why did he do this? Dee had spent so long telling him all about how Recluse was “just a kid” who was “going to get himself killed one day”. It figured that he would be right about that--this. Virgil is going to get himself killed and he can’t even remember the last thing he said to Dee (though it was probably something along the lines of “I promise I’m not going to go graffiti the old subway station alleys again.”).

He’s so caught up in what he might have, or might not have said, and what his last words were going to be it takes him a moment to realize there’s another noise striking his senses.  _Really was this spidersense useful for anything--_

The window next to him suddenly flicks open, despite the rain that was definitely pouring in. Virgil isn’t sure what to do when a head bravely sticks out into the open air. 

“Hail!” The boy says all smug smiles that Virgil immediately  ~~loves~~ hates. “You’re Recluse aren’t you?”

As if there was some other spider themed weirdo who clung to buildings in their free time.

“No,” Virgil says, because he can. What, the citizens of this town have had a year to know him, and they all knew his dislike of social interaction. (They did not know it was because his anxiety flared up, reminding him of how obvious it was that  _Virgil_ was  _Recluse_ already.)

The boy laughed. He folded his arms on the window sill, completely oblivious to the pouring rain that was matting his brown hair to his face and the spouts that were sure to be getting into his office. “Alright, alright. I guess I deserved that one. Can I ask a question?”

“You just did.” 

The boy’s eyes narrow, his lips pursed together in a way that’s more comical than anything else. If Virgil had to venture a guess, he’d assume that this guy is his age, which does little to explain why he’s some forty floors up on a building Virgil is pretty sure is owned by the government.

“Wow the news was right about you being a smartass.” The boy says, “I was just wondering why you wear a sweatshirt over your suit. It really can’t be practical, and it looks terrible.”

Virgil takes back anything nice he’s thought about this guy. “Excuse me?” 

“What?” He responds as if he can’t believe Virgil would be annoyed at him, “You have a whole edgy look about it! A hero can’t be edgy!”

“Yes they can!”

“Name one!” 

“Batman!”

“Name two!”

Virgil shakes his head, rolling his eyes though the other can’t see at all.  Flicks of water splatter off him, for all the good it does. He can feel his hands starting to tire from holding him up, and the water is slipping between his foot and the glass.

“Why do you care what I wear?” He snaps, “Shouldn’t you be asking why I’m just hanging out up here?”

The boy raises his eye brows as if the idea never occurred to him. He glances back in the office and then back out, with a mischievous smile “I don’t see an issue with you out here. I mean I got a great view through the window over. Anyone ever tell you, you’ve got great calves?”

Virgil unsticks his foot to kick at him. It’s a mistake, and he knows it the second he does it (which is the only reason why this  _asshole_ doesn’t taste the rubber of Virgil’s sole). Water runs over the slick surface of the window, thunder booms, and Virgil curses as knee looses its hold and he drops-- _fuck_ \--until his fingers are the only thing holding him with overextended elbows and a shoulder screaming bloody murder. 

“Oh fuck--” the boy half yells, and jumps back inside. Virgil clings to the idle hope that he’s running to get help. He’s disappointed when the window where he had been dangling flicks open and its only the boy there. He reaches out and catches Virgil’s wrists tightly, cementing them. The window howls. Somewhere not too far off lightning shoots between the clouds, and the resulting thunder shakes the building.

Or maybe that’s Virgil’s body threatening to give up on him. It would be really easy just to free fall to his death at this point. Far easier than trying to fight the agony in his shoulder. 

“Hey!” The boy yells, “Hey, come on! I can’t pull you up by myself!”

“Then don’t,” Virgil forces between his gritted teeth. The boy doesn’t hear, and Virgil isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing. He kicks against the window pushing the balls of his feet into the glass and scraping upwards in a pseudo bunny hop. 

The boy yanks his wrists at the same time, perfectly planned and yet not at all.

Virgil juts through the window, colliding face-to- chin with the boy. His rib cage scraps the window sill, and they fall to the floor in a weighty piles of limbs and soaked clothes. 

Virgil curses again, rolling off the boy, and grabbing his shoulder with a twisted expression, _“shit.”_  Because it was definitely going to need to be looked at by a professional, and Virgil hated lying. There wasn’t a good way to explain how he fucked up his shoulder, especially when the truth would get him grounded for life (probably literally).

It takes him another moment to recognize that the boy is laughing. At him.

“What?” Virgil snaps.

“I just saved Recluse,” He says as if that was some kind of accomplishment. “That makes me a hero!”

“It really doesn’t,” he responds just to make that stupid smug smile go away. He wishes the adrenaline would fade already because he can’t think when his heart is beating this fast.

“I’m Roman,” He says offering a hand, “I figured you should know, since were fellow heroes.”

“Saving me does not make you a hero.”

“Of course it does,” Roman says disregarding his sour tone with a flick of his hand. “You save people, I saved you, therefore I saved all those people too.”

“That’s not--” Virgil sucks in a breath and counted to ten like his old guidance counselor had told him to do. He punched evil guys in the face all the time, and yet this Roman character managed to get under his skin more than anyone else. He glances around at the office they’re in-- a cubical that looked pretty standard of some pencil pusher. It reminded him of Logan’s dorm room: all neat and orderly and so,  _so_ boring. 

Minus the puddle that Virgil and Roman were creating in the center of the room. The rain pattered on the windowsill soaking some wastebasket and dripping onto the floor.

“Oh shit,” Virgil said, because he really didn’t need another reason for someone to hate him. 

Roman looked down and then shrugged off the water. “whoops!” He grinned, getting up and closing the window. “Good thing this isn’t my place.”

“You’re place?” Virgil repeated. Water dribbles down his mask, distorting his view of Roman for a second. 

Roman waves him off, “I’m here often enough that they gave me my own cubical, you know next door.” He smirks, “Still has a great view.”

Virgil fights his blush and fails, but it’s okay because Roman can’t see him anyway. He slowly pushes himself up to his knees and then manages to get himself standing without aggravating his shoulder anymore. If he’s lucky Patton will be asleep by the time Virgil climbs into the room again and he’ll have until tomorrow morning to figure out how to explain it to his best friend and roommate. (Because Virgil knew that both Logan and Patton would be against him doing anything superhero-ish so they had not been informed of where Virgil went on his daily trips out of the school.)

((Actually now that he thought about it, there was literally no one in his life that would approve of what he was doing. They would all tell him to stop before he got himself actually killed.))

“You work here?” Virgil asks.

“hm? Oh nah!” Roman laughs, “No way. This place would kill me.” He motions around the room to prove his point “So dreadfully boring. I was born for the stage!” He poses in what Virgil supposes is a dramatic pose. 

He doesn’t say that Roman definitely looks like he was born for the stage.  ~~Because Virgil definitely doesn’t notice that his eyes are a fiery brown made so with a passion, that there are slight crinkles around his eyes from lots of laughter, that his laugh itself is loud and booming and Virgil feels his heart do a stutter at the sound of something so freaking perfect. He doesn’t look like a Prince swooping out of no where to save the day. _He doesn’t._~~

“Whatever you say Princey.” Virgil tells him, and then panics because  _what the fuck Virgil._

“Princey?” Roman repeats with smug smirk, “Are you my damsel in distress then Recluse? I wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course you wouldn’t mind,” Virgil rolls his eyes so hard his head tilts enough for Roman to know what he was doing. “You don’t have a brain to mind with.”

Roman gasps offended. Virgil cheers himself on.

“How could you say something so mean to the person who just saved your life?”

“How could I not?” Virgil huffs, “You just pulled me into this building. Isn’t this owned by the Government? Don’t you need a clearance level to get in here?”

“Rules are meant to be broken!” Roman cries dramatically, then he shivers, visibly.

It’s then that Virgil realizes that they are both soaked to the core, standing in the middle of an air conditioned cubical. His own freaky spider healing ability was probably keeping him from totally freezing, but Roman was not as lucky. 

“Oh man,” Virgil says lamely, “Do you have something dry to change into?”

Roman scoffs a laugh that’s nothing if not awkward. “What? Eager to see me undress, Recluse?”

Virgil is doing the blushy blotch thing that he hates he does when he’s flustered, but he’s pretty sure Roman’s ears are turning dark red so at least he’s not alone. Virgil splutters some series consonants and vowels that’s not actually English but close enough.

“Look, just--” Virgil grunts, turning away from him because he can’t speak when he’s looking at the wannabe actor. “I’m not going to be responsible for you getting a cold because of me!”

Roman shivers again, a thing that makes his entire frame jerk, and his shovels his hands under his arm pits and retains a copy of his smile. “Aw you care.”

“Shut up,” Virgil says without the heat he meant it to.

“Aren’t you cold?” 

“I’m part spider.”

“I’m part Italian.”

“What?”

“What?”

They both stare at each other, and Virgil shakes his head when Roman ducks his. Their laughs mix somewhere in the middle. When Virgil looks back at him Roman is staring at him with some sort of unreadable expression on his face. His cheeks were definitely dusted pink now.

“What?” Virgil asks again.

“I was--you--uh--” Roman’s mouth opens and closes twice before he seems to find the words he’s looking for, “do you have a phone?”

Virgil isn’t sure what he was expecting. He’s also unsure why he isn’t running far, far away by now. He chalks it up to the exhaustion from the near death experience. “Why?”

“I, uh, think you’re a--uh-- rather dashing sort of fellow,” Roman says, “I was-- _hoping--_  I could, presumably, uh, obtain your number.”

“Is this a joke?” 

Roman stiffens with panicked look on his face, “No! NO! I would never! I mean it when I say I think you’re amazing, even if no one else thinks so! The way you save people all day and never ask for anything in return-- and even if you’re hard to approach and you make me doubt everything I say-- I still think you’re really cool. I’d like to be your friend.”

There are a million reasons for Virgil to say no. Most of them involve a certain amount of “it’s not safe” and “what if anyone ever found out”. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t!” Roman says and Virgil has a hard time not believing him. He looks earnest, trustworthy. Virgil wonders if he hit his head when he slammed into the window or if he’s actually getting sick.

“I’m not telling you my real name.” Virgil warns him.

Roman has the decency to look embarrassed, “I didn’t expect you, too! It wouldn’t matter anyway.” He mutters the last part under his breath.

Virgil is about to ask what that means when there’s a resounding ding of elevator doors somewhere not far away. Roman’s eyes grow wide and his hisses a noise from his teeth. 

“Hide!” 

“What?” Virgil says.

“ _Roman?”_ Another voice makes the hair on the back of Virgil’s neck rise. He has just enough time to panic--he’s really good at panicking-- before the telltale click of heel on the tile floor catches up with them and a woman glances into their cubical. Her eyes fall on Roman, and then search the rest of the cubical, looking straight at Virgil and moving on.

“Roman,” She says, “What are you doing in here--and why are you all wet?”

Roman glances between Virgil and her for a second before his posture closes and he rubs the back of his neck with mock sheepishment. “The window was open, auntie. I came in here to close it and it was harder than I thought it would be.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “It was...open?” She glanced around the room again, “No came in right? You haven’t seen anyone?”

Roman laughs, and Virgil’s impressed by his acting ability, “Of course not. We’re on the forty third floor. Who would be climbing in this building this high?”

That seems to calm her down. “Sorry, its just that the technology we’re working on is highly classified. I just clocked out for the day, so we can go now.”

“Really?” Roman says.

“What’s wrong? Every other day you’re begging me to leave! Plus we need to get you in dry clothes and rested up for the big day tomorrow!” 

Roman gives another look towards Virgil-- well through Virgil, because he can’t see something that’s invisible. It had been a private joke that Virgil had kept to himself: that he an introverted artist with anxiety was barely noticed in a crowd as it was and now he could literally turn invisible when he panicked. 

“Yeah,” Roman says. He turns away and he exits the cubical. Virgil stays still long after his chattering has faded and he’s left he building. He wonders if he’s ever going to see him again. For a superhero was a secret identity and an introvert with anxiety, the answer is surprisingly disappointing.

* * *

“Seriously Virge!” Patton whines, “Skateboarding in the abandoned subway rails?” He looks at the dislocated shoulder that Virgil just had set by the school nurse. “Kiddo, you’re going to be the death of me!”

“Sorry Pat,” Virgil tells his roommate.

Patton sighs and tussles Virgil’s hair because that was the type of person Patton was. “I’m sorry too kiddo. I’m not mad, I just worry. A lot.”

Virgil knows this, because he had been Patton’s roommate since he had come to the Sanders Academy for the Gifted (which was funny because Virgil got in for his art and now he really is  _gifted_ \-- with superpowers). Patton had luckily been asleep when Virgil had made it back into the room, long after the storm had cleared by doing a strange super dangerous swing with one arm and his webshooter. 

“Oh shoot!” Patton exclaims looking at his watch, “We’re late!”

“Late?”

Patton blinks, “Logan’s new dorm-mate is moving in today! I promised we’d be there to help them get settled in!”

Virgil tugs the zipper of his jacket--which was still a little damp, but he was ignoring it. It wasn’t like anyone was going to recognize it. “Both of us?” He says quietly, which he knows sounds like a plea, and it is: a plea to Patton to let him skip out on meeting new people for the day.

Recluse could, because Recluse could just snarl at the people he didn’t like and swing away. Virgil could not.

Patton takes his hand off the zipper and links their fingers in a way that is brazenly lovingly-- because Pat had a lot of love to give to everyone. “I’ll be right here the entire time, I promise. We can just go say hi, and then we can go hang out in our room until class starts.”

Virgil is not a people person. But Patton is giving him the puppy dog eyes that haunts Virgil’s dreams. He hates denying Patton anything he wants. When he agrees the smile that lights up Patton’s face is almost enough to drown out the cannon ball sized dread in his stomach. 

Logan’s room is right across from theirs anyway. It is a simple thing to duck out of anything that happens and both Patton and Logan are kind enough that they can explain Virgil’s in depth issues with--

The door to Logan’s room is open, but Patton knocks and enters anyway. Virgil stops short  _because there is no way that this is happening._

Logan is OCD, even if he denies it. His room is neat and orderly and perfect. Everything has its place and he starts to lose it when things aren’t where they belong. Virgil tries to avoid going in his room if he can help it, because he’s terrified of messing something up. 

His new roommate appears to be the opposite, if just from the stacks of haphazardly placed boxes in the room. Its too much stuff, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Logan does and he looks absolutely terrible: as if he’s about to short circuit at any second. Virgil can relate.

Because standing in the middle of Logan’s room is Roman.  _Roman._ The same Roman who had saved Virgil’s life yesterday night. The same Roman who had sat there and talked to him while they were soaked. The same Roman who had asked for his number.

Roman looks up from whatever he’s saying at Patton’s entrance with that smug smile that makes Virgil’s heart jump and this time he can’t blame it on the adrenaline. 

“Hi!” Patton says.

“Greetings!” Roman booms, “I’m Roman, Actor!” He gives a bow to Patton that makes him giggle-- but he freezes when he sees Virgil standing there behind the glowing Patton. 

“Roman?” Logan asks, worried despite his internally barely hidden frustration. He makes a motion like he’s about to unpack on of the boxes and just barely stops himself.

Roman doesn’t respond. Instead that stupid smile widens just a bit as he nods to Virgil,  _which makes no sense because he doesn’t know Virgil is Recluse,_  “That’s a terrible jacket.  _Completely_ impractical.”

Virgil can’t make a noise-- he really can’t. Because Roman shouldn’t be here, much less recognize him from this jacket of all things. And Roman does recognize him, because there’s a playful twinkle in his eyes and Virgil couldn’t get their conversation out of his head if he tried.

~~He doesn’t dare try.~~

“Excuse you!” Patton exclaims, “How dare you insult my--”

He trails off at the sound of laughter. Virgil is as surprised as he is to find its his own. 

“Shut up, Princey.” Virgil manages, goes for intimidating but he knows he failed, “No one asked you.” 

“This won’t do!” Roman says, “I’m going to have to save your fashion sense as well as your life!”

“Pardon,” Logan cuts in, fixing his glasses, “You two have met? Roman has saved your life Virgil?”

“Yes, just last night--”

“Skateboarding!” Virgil cuts in, a bit too loud, a bit too quickly, “I was skateboarding! In the subway alleys!”

Roman laughs slightly. Virgil is worried for just a second that he isn’t going to go with it, but its misplaced worry. “Right, Skateboarding. I happened to be walking along there as well. We talked for a bit.”

Patton seems to burst with happiness. “Kiddo! You didn’t tell me you made a friend!” He wraps Virgil in a hug.

Logan looks less convinced.

Roman looks perfect.

Virgil realizes at this point Roman is a waterspout, and Virgil was completely unprepared for it. But Virgil thinks he doesn’t mind being washed away.


End file.
